


The Caravan Experience

by thelemon_isinplay



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Caravan trips, fluff (so far)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelemon_isinplay/pseuds/thelemon_isinplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a caravan trip designed to make the boys miserable, things occur that foil that plan - for two of them, anyway.</p><p>((UPDATE: THIS HAS NOT BEEN ABANDONED. I COMPLETELY FORGOT I WAS WRITING IT, THOUGH. IT'LL TAKE A WHILE, BUT I WILL HAVE A NEW CHAPTER UP EVENTUALLY.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Caravan Experience

"Bit small, isn't it?" James observed, eyeing the contraption warily. It was, in fact, the smallest model Clarkson could find, and the least attractive. It had a color scheme of olive green and burnt sugar with a cream trim, all of which combined distastefully on the obtrusively boxy machine.

"The smallest," Clarkson confirmed.

"And the ugliest," Hammond said disappointedly.

"I'm glad you like it," Clarkson said. He then turned to Hammond and offered up the contents of his clenched fist - the keys. "It's all yours."

Hammond's shoulders sunk. He accepted the keys with an accusatory glare, at which Clarkson grinned broadly. He proceeded to lead them to another, slightly nicer, caravan. It had an extremely similar color scheme, but it was brighter, larger, and actually had more than one window. "Dreary," James commented.

Clarkson extended his other hand towards James and dangled the keys in front of his face. "Enjoy," he intoned before continuing on to the largest, shiniest caravan, having had the keys snatched from him by an irritated James.

Hammond glared after Clarkson, silently seething. "Why do I get the smallest caravan?"

James knew he would regret this decision, but something at the back of his mind told him to offer anyway. "Do you want to switch with me?" he asked, albeit quietly.

"Really? Could I?" Hammond said, turning now to search James' eyes.

"Yes. Sure," James answered, holding his keys out to Hammond on his open palm.

"You...You're not joking," Hammond said softly, practically dumbstruck.

"No, I'm not," James confirmed, nodding slowly. "Now do you want my caravan?"

"Yes! Please," Hammond corrected himself, then gently exchanged their keys while James smiled encouragingly at him.

After the trade was complete, James swept his arm towards the hunks of metal in mock grandiose display, offering, "Shall we take a look?"

Hammond nodded, taking the lead. Surprisingly, the caravan managed to become even less attractive the closer you got, showing darker patches of the disdainful colors which appeared to be a design. That someone actually took time _designing_. It was truly disastrous.

Hammond tried to make the unveiling of the caravan dramatic, but there was no saving the interior. There was barely four square feet of walking space, the overheads were low enough that Hammond could probably hit his head on them, and some idiot had tried to squeeze a twin-sized mattress inside, letting it curl inwards upon itself as if they had given up part-way through the struggle. All of these flaws were made evident despite the blinking, oddly buzzing, overhead light, because the window was caked with dirt and was thus unable to shed light from the last rays of setting sun. Hammond sat on the mattress by accident when he turned to look at James, who was till scanning the interior with a disapproving eye.

"I wonder what mine's like," James cringed.

Extremely similar, as it turned out. Except there weren't any overhead cabinets and the mattress had been curled against the walls more than in Hammond's caravan. The window was also caked with dirt and neglect, but the lamp appeared to have been broken long ago. James investigated with a handheld torch that was running low on battery he had found taped to the door handle with a sticky-note that read, 'Use this' attached to it.

"Fun," James muttered. He flopped down on the mattress, disappointment making him tired, and tried to sleep without thinking of the disgusting amounts of small insects probably coexisting with him here.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"James?" a weary voice called from outside. A small knock at the door followed. "James."

"Mmm. What," James said, stifling a yawn. The flashlight had run out of battery, and it was pitch-black inside the small space.

"Oh. You're awake," the voice said, sounding surprised.

"What did you expect when you called for me?" How long had he been asleep?

"I-I don't know. I just, I felt bad about getting you stuck in the smallest caravan. Do you think we can switch back?"

Somehow James managed to get up and get the door open. Hammond stood outside in his pyjamas, a set of plaid nightwear with about four buttons undone at the top and one at the bottom, illuminated solely by pale moonlight. He stared up at James with wide eyes, probably not purposefully, and with a small amount of surprise involved in James actually stumbling to the door. "No," James said.

"But--"

"No. You deserve better than this," James said, gesturing to his caravan with a nod of his head.

"...Oh. Uhm," Hammond replied helpfully. He then proceeded to try to see past James and into the caravan, but James closed the door a little to prevent that. "What's wrong?" Hammond asked instinctually.

"N-nothing. Nothing at all," James lied.

"Something's wrong. I can tell."

"I--" James began, but Hammond pushed past him and into the caravan. James didn't resist, especially since Hammond's hand remained against his chest, where James' heart fluttered and began to skip beats. A clicking sound preceded the question, "What happened to the light?"

"It, um, it's broken," James managed to say despite Hammond now resting that hand on his shoulder, two fingers lying on bare skin where his shirt had been tugged down accidentally. Their pulses met where their skin touched, James' erratic one combating Hammond's steady one.

"Oh. Have you got a torch?" Hammond asked.

"N-No," James lied again.

"So you've been in the dark the whole time?"

"Yes. For the most part."

"This isn't helping how terrible I feel about switching with you," Hammond informed him.

"Oh?"

"Yes. You'll...you'll just have to share with me."

"No, I couldn't--"

"It's no bother! Besides, I'd feel far better knowing that you were at least partially comfortable."

"I don't want to impose, and you've barely got any light either, so I...erm," James tried to get out of this, because how could he share with Richard Hammond in just a twin without his mind wandering and getting flustered? His words failed him, unfortunately, and Hammond made the decision for him.

"I replaced the bulb, scrubbed the window, and made the bed up. So you're staying with me," Hammond said decisively, then let his hand slide down James' arm to his wrist and pulled him along gently. "Come on."

James bit his lip in an effort to shut himself up and closed the door to his caravan quietly, allowing himself to be pulled along by Hammond and praying that his pulse wouldn't tell him precisely what James was thinking.

When they got inside, Hammond climbed into bed. "Shut the light off, would you?"

"Erm..." James started tactfully, swallowing hard.

"There's plenty of moonlight," Hammond reasoned. At this, James shut off the light.

Pale moonlight filtered through the window, lighting up Hammond's skin and making his half-open eyes shine. James took off his suit jacket and draped it over one of Hammond's suitcases before lying down as far away from Hammond as humanly possible and ignoring the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"I would say that I don't bite, but you probably wouldn't believe me," Hammond said quietly.

James turned his head to face Hammond. "What?"

"You look scared," Hammond clarified.

"I-I'm not scared, per say."

"Right. And I'm not wearing pyjamas," Hammond said sarcastically, which elicited a calculating look from James. "No, I am. And you're terrified."

"I, uh..." James said, his cheeks slowly warming. He cleared his throat, then scootched a tad closer. "See, not terrified. Just embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? What for?" Hammond asked.

"No reason," James said far too quickly. Hammond sighed.

"I've known you for years now. You shouldn't be embarrassed, James," he said softly. James looked into Hammond's eyes when his name was spoken.

"I'm just awkward, I suppose. I...I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"...Thank you," James responded softly for lack of a better answer.

"Good night, James."

"...Pleasant dreams."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having fun writing this, but I can't think of a challenge the producers should give them at a later part. If anybody thinks of anything, can you send me a message? (thelemon-isinplay.tumblr.com/ask)


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